It is Northen coastal California,
Which boasted the best weather in the USA,
Then came the Global warming, changing the weather all around,
Never so many people suffered from Tornadoes, cyclones, fire, and flooding.
When the scientists proclaimed about the dangers of Global warming,
All the conservative ruling elites thought it was a lunacy of progressives,
Now comes the warning of Atmospheric bomb, and Atmospheric River (AR) rain,
Hunkered up in my room, I watch with fear the monstrous clouds rolling up over my head.
Last year when AR came, the little hills started to slide down,
The age-old trees fell everywhere, power came and went with the rain,
When it comes with an Atmospheric bomb, it is a cyclone with rivers of rain,
The roofs over houses blew up, trees crashed cars and houses all over,
It flooded everywhere, and a few lives got lost in this deluge.
I can live without this watery deluge,
Would love to see past sprinkles observed by natives in awe,
Would love to see birds taking a little shower,
Unfortunately, everyone perishes in this deluge of AB and AR rains.
Bantus
Are well known as
The ancient hibrow Israelites,
In all Africa and abroad,
They protect their
Culture and
Traditions which reffer
To Deuteronomy and
Laws
Of Moses.
When you go to vira,
Shi, ngala,
Luwa, kongo,
Nyamwezi ,mongo,
Makuwa ,sotho,
Chewa, shona,
Bemba , luba,
Bembe, zulu,
Fuliru ,hutu,
Ganda, and fulira.
They all know that
They came from
Northen Africa
To central, east and
Southern Africa.
By Alfonso Warally Ngengethe
Mussabwa Chris
Love language
I speak the language that speaks love
Love that speaks light
Light from above
White as northen snow
Brightly wild in hearts that knows
Born in a land where occupant spit hate and vomit anger
At each other's face
Even a total stranger
Farming suffering
Harvesting hunger
Living angrily Believing greedly
Twisted minds bleeding you to death
Sacred duty to them
Seprating head from body is like birth
right
This place am from is too dark I become light
I speak the language that speaks love.
@Solo Man.
Everybody is born crying
At least give me the freedom to die laughing
Never in defiance no never in fear
But in pure unadultrated happiness
Let all the decisions, choices, mistakes
Fall in meaningless puddles of stagnant water
And let me just soar with the ecstacy of thundering waves
Basking in deep ululations of dancing tear drops
From the deepest forests of Central Africa
Crossing the golden plains of southern Africa
Besting the dryest parts of northen Africa
Let me smell the freedom which has long eluded mankind
Let me sit down and smoke a pipe with my friends
And share all the stories that brought us to be
Its simple and yet its so hard to achieve
To be humble and yet to be more than we please
Take me home oh I'm asking the heavens to see
That we walk through this life wearing borrowed shoes
Take me home Oh Im begging my friends need to see
How I'm happy, I'm happy, I'm happy to be
Everybody is born through pain
Let me die with pleasure
And look up at the faces of all those I love
And see their joy, their pride, their happiness that I had lived
Kilimanjaro
By Athi Godlo
"Oh, hear me chiefs, for I am tired and with a sick and sad heart, and from where the sun now stands I will fight no more forever!" - Chief Joseph of the Nez Pierce
The time in which these words were spoken, surely must've been a mournful day; a day showing to each of these Native Americans as a passing marked of great sadness, a sadness unique to each perspective - an end-view of a Peoples reaching eyes, ...eyes found looking back at their ancestral homeland, each having taken in this sight with great beholding, ... as if the imminent future had left out on an open grassy plain, a thousand souls in wait for final sharing of a night's thoughts under a Northen Lights glow. Sadly, for some, the last capture of a memory, this running beauty to its hold would ever show.
Death has gotten the best of me
Mother said it too
It’s true
The Nazis and Jews
are marching outside to celebrate.
The hate
The date you died on that Northen shore.
And of all the songs I’ve written,
This one I could never finish.
These fingers,
Slimmer than cigarettes,
Burn at the punch of every letter.
My teeth- ah my teeth
Crushed by metal and steel
I could never speak
I could never speak to you
And this tongue
Turned oh so blue-
From the times I held it back
Because of you.
I don’t believe in Santa anymore, daddy
He never took me back to you
And by your deathbed where
One shoe lies instead of two
One kick less in my broken hip
One kick less from the Panzerman- you
And on this Masachusettes shore
Where I cried myself
Till the sea-shells went shut
In the mire and the muck
I see nothing but your face, featureless
Shining through
It’s time for the dark dawn to come again.
north by northen
they live in villages of 8 to 10 people,
dont pay rent and make art out of multi
colored buttons and old bent tire rims.
they have warm smiles and icicle
beards that hang down in a
furrowed eccentric mess.
they are eskimos that write with
red ball point pens and speak french
fluently. except when they slip on the
ice they may curse and cry.
thier tears freeze into crystal cathedrals
with paintings of redemption
hanging along its walls.
they redeem us all.